Children of the Circle
by ShadowedSoulSpirit
Summary: England has been missing for a year now, and his entire nation had crumbled. Unrecognizable, the country's inhabitants fight for the survival of the fittest. America is desperate to find him and save his country. As America begins discovering clues, he moves closer to a break through. But what is this cult that keeps coming up? USUK T for language, gore, death.
1. The Breakdown

**Children of the Circle**

**A Hetalia story.**

**Prologue: The Breakdown**

* * *

The countries haven't heard from England for an equivalent of six months. America knows because he has been keeping track, tallying each day his former caretaker goes unheard from. No one bothers to make contact—aside from America—because everyone knows he experiences bursts of bipolar behaviors that prevent him from talking to people without exploding in anger. America however finds it odd. England usually does that a week leading up to his birthday. The day of his independence has been three months ago, and therefore didn't add up as it was supposed to.

One autumn streaked day, America had chartered a plane to London, only to find the Brit's home ransacked and abandoned, almost like he left in a hurry. These were the warning bells that lead America to conduct a search party, questioning every political mastermind possible for places he could have disappeared too. It could have been an enemy that caused it, America knew. The thought never evaded him. All countries possessed enemies, but England excessively so. There could be such a long list of possible suspects that it would take months leading into years in order to clear them all.

Yes, the United States of America was worried. Although he broke away, he still highly regards the remaining relationship with him, even if it isn't so great. He cared about him greatly, and would even go as far as saying he still loved the country. Sadly though, England's harbored anger did not disintegrated over the years and he didn't seek to have any kind of bond with the former colony.

Nevertheless, America's worry prevailed and on many rainy nights he spent his time on the intricate London streets, sweeping a flash light across the pavement in a pity search to locate England.

By the seventh missing month, Canada and France had joined in. They comforted America as best as they could, noting the heavy bags under his eyes and the gaunt stretch of his youthful face. He was stressing himself so much it wasn't healthy. It was eating his diet like a pesticide, making him reject his daily routine of McDonald's and instead spent his lunch and dinner searching.

The eighth month held no change and by the ninth the British government was in an uproar. For the time being, they directed Northern Ireland to represent the UK, although the careless country wasn't prepared for such a task. There was talk buzzing around about having another country permanently lead the British Empire. They needed symbolization, which had formerly been England. Now desperately, they are seeking a replacement. America did not make progress and get better. No, throughout the course of the futile searches, America's condition continued to deteriorate before Canada snapped. He set things straight, telling America if he continued down the same path he would be unable to help search for England. This perked up his condition, only a little, but at least he was consuming food as much as his appetite would allow now.

By the tenth month, there were no results. The police have far since given up and Parliament had jurisdiction to seek protection under a new nation. The G8, Commonwealth, and the UN meetings were all subtracted one seat. Countries hardly acknowledged his previous existence. Now, Northern Ireland had been revoked of his rights and was no longer a representation of the UK. Panicking at the world's increasing ignorance of their empire, Parliament was in the process of passing laws that sickened America to the core. Continuously throughout this, America, Canada, and France persisted their daily/nightly searches of the country that had vanished off the earth. There was no leads, no places to start. It was only an aimless search in hopes he was simply in London's gutters. As the searches continued, it revealed something much more complicated has happened. The first explanation was kidnapping, although it didn't add up very well. The kidnappers haven't declared ransom, haven't even let people know that they were in position of a country that could cause a lot of leeway when it comes to bargaining. Murder couldn't be possible. The personification of England was not only a country, but a wizard. He could easily fight back with a round of incantations.

Maybe he just wants to stay hidden? Impossible! England would no neglect his duties as a country. No matter the circumstances, his people undeniably came first. Something _had_ to have happened in order for this ten month silence to ensue. Whatever had gone down, they would find out one way or another.

The eleventh month secreted horrors a plenty for the island of the UK, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. All of the Kirkland brothers also succumbed to mysterious circumstances and hadn't been seen since the unification meeting. Frantically, the human personal awaiting them shut down every airport and ship dock and denied global access by any country. America knew they would starve themselves at this rate. America, Canada, France, Germany, Russia, China, Italy, and Japan, along with their respective leaders, traveled to the UK in hopes of a conference. Only by Germany's solder status and wittiness did they gain access in the country.

To America, Parliament looked like a group of savage, crazy men who were desperately seeking their next meal. Their clothes were ripped from the squabbles they would randomly have, staining the white shirts with a mixture of coffee, lunch, and blood. The entirety of the UK and the allying islands were crumbling so quickly that they were reverting back to the Neanderthal days.

One year to the day after England's disappearance, his country shattered. No one could save their slipping economies and before they knew it, everything crashed. Prices skyrocketed, bankrupted prisons allowed murders and rapist to run free. The UN and G8 established life line for the countries, but what money was received instantly went to the hands of the prisoners whom in their uprising overtook Parliamentary control.

From there on, no one was allowed into the country again.

However, somewhere deep in his heart, America knew England was still confided to his country's borders, just hidden so well he couldn't be found. More than anything, he wanted his former caretaker back. To any extent, he later promises, he would return England to the world, and would restore the battered empire back to its former glory.

The only question remaining was: how would he enter the country?

* * *

**Review!**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	2. A Canadian Explanation

**Children of the Circle**

**A Hetalia story.**

**Chapter One: A Canadian Explanation**

* * *

One hundred and two different ethnic groups divided by recognized borders meet annually on the bases of United Nations. They work together to solve the world's problems. Well at least they did, America corrects himself. They don't quite do that anymore. Their voices mingle within the walls confides, mushing many voices into one indistinguishable voice. Fellow countries greet on another, renewing old bonds with a simple hello and a hand shake. Others find their specified place amongst the chairs, preparing their topic of choice for the meeting. The young hero makes his way to the 'U' section, to satisfy those who demanded the order be aphetically. He sits down on the leather upholstery, digging his fingers into the arms when he feels tears spring into his eyes. They have neglected to reserve a place for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Formerly where his chair had been, they simply removed the designated section and instead squished the United Arab Emirates in his place. It upset America deeply, but not only that, it also angers him beyond comprehension.

_They are acting like he never existed._ He bites his lip tightly to the point that the skin rips and blood floods his orifice. _Almost like he was wiped off the map._ That makes his blood boil. England is alive, he is sure of it. He just needs the support of other counties in order to charter a little team to go over to the former British territory. All he needs is a least six supporters or more…

"Alright everyone! Let's get started!" Germany calls from his seat between Georgia and Greece; Ghana had been sick and didn't attend.

Obediently, they answer the soldier's order and the remaining UN countries take their seats. Presiding over this meeting is the ever graceful France, whom looks nearly flustered under the fluorescent lights of the podium. His pale, Egyptian blue eyes meet America's sapphire orbs. Nodding his head unnoticeably, France returns the nod and calls the meeting to order.

"Bonjour everybody!" He smiles, effectively wooing a few of the feminine countries, "Welcome to the national United Nations meeting! Here we are assigned to dedicating peace and coming up with whatever solution possible to maintain said peace. While it is tradition to begin the meeting with another country's issue, I would like to start off with mine."

Several other countries grumble at the break of tradition, but none are brave enough to speak out. The anticipation grows within America, tying his stomach into an array of complicated knots. He is so close to teetering off the edge; the only predictable outcome being either he cries publicly or throws up all over Uruguay. Neither option sounds pleasant. He tries his best to mentally sooth his growing nausea.

"Amerique and I would like to charter a mission of recovery into England," The conference room is dead quiet, making France gulp loudly, "And we need the support of six other countries in order to do this-"

Before he could finish, he is interrupted by Austria, ''By the Gods, you are insane!"

"That's suicide!" The Czech Republic jeers, gaining the support of his brother Slovakia.

America could feel his heart dropping the more countries that disapproved with the idea. The number keeps rising and rising, until more than half of the UN is disagreeing with the idea. America really wants to cry, his heart shattering until-

"We should do it."

His voice is barely audible over the negative talk, but the hero is positive that he had heard it. Searching the crowd of faces, he finds a pair of eyes staring back at him, a smile plastered upon their face like they knew what they had just did for America's mental state.

It is Italy.

"Hai, I agree."

"I see no harm in it, da."

"We should help him aru."

"Ja. He is a World Power."

That is only five.

In that moment, America breaks down.

Hot tears pour down his face, his labored breathing fogging up his glasses. He claws at the chair, choking down broken sobs. Many countries turn their heads to look at him. It is over. England would be never found, would never know what America feels about him. He is so close to screaming, but doesn't get to. The door to the UN slams open. Canada comes running in, panting heavily from the exercise.

"I agree!" He breathes.

It takes a moment for America to process it. When he does, he hops over the tables separating him from his brother and pulls him into the tightest hug he could manage.

Six. Canada made six.

They are the original Allies and Axis who wanted to save England. They still cared. America laughs into the hug, the tears now pouring from his overwhelming sense of happiness.

"Thank you!" He whimpers, smelling the maple syrup on his brother's skin when he buries his face in his shoulder. Canada softens his expression and returns the crushing hug with a tender one.

"I would like to overrule that notion." Belarus states, a point blank look on her face that makes her older brother cower behind a table.

"And why is that?" France asks wearily.

"If big brother goes, I go."

Russia moans pitifully, but doesn't back out.

It is decided then.

They would be soon traveling to the economically unstable country of England, whom has long since been over ran by insanity itself.

After the UN meeting is dissolved, having finally been ended when Italy swore to Switzerland there would be no more late night streaking. The Allies and Axis former participants—plus Belarus—remain in the lower levels of the meeting room, occupying the A through D section. America is still crying his eyes out, making all their faces a hazy distortion. He didn't need to see them though. He's either fought with or alongside them long enough to recognize them by their voices.

"What's the plan?" That is Canada, clinging to America's arm because he is fearing he could fall over for no reason.

"Planes are risky." France murmurs.

"Then we are going to have to go by boat, da." Russia adds, messing with the fraying ends of his scarf to avoid Belarus's gaze.

"I formally had experience on such a vessel. I could help on that aspect." France suggests helpfully.

"I do have on question though," Germany speaks up, his face masked by a soldier's gaunt expression, "What if we get there and are unable to find England. What will be our course of action then?"

America has never really considered that. Anything remotely close to the negative spectrum is dismissed promptly from his mind. He didn't want to consider his worst fears being real. It wasn't like those many Halloweens he spent trying to scare England's pants off. _This is serious, far more serious than any war I partook in_, America thought. Nothing can surmount to the very feeling he has now, just thinking about never seeing England again. It burns a hole through his heart just considering it. He could recall all the times England has been there for him. He could recount the various times he hurt himself and England was there to kiss the pain away or when he got lonely, he chased the seclusion away. More than anything, America wants to be there for his former caretaker when his country is in its darkest hour.

The hero would not give up, no matter what happens.

"We restore the country and maintain it like England would have wanted it." Came the firm reply.

And that was that.

"We will probably only have one shot of getting in and out. We will have to make it count." China points out.

"America-san, do you have any clue where England-san might be?"

Now that the tears have long since dried up, the country wipes his blurred vision, swiping the prohibition of his sight away.

"London. That's where his house is."

"You've searched that plenty of times haven't you? He wouldn't be there." Germany argues.

"I have a feeling."

"So in other words, you're guessing."

"It's a man's intuition."

"Sounds more like guessing to me."

"Dude, lay off. I just know he's there. You're acting like this is a going to be a witch hunt."

"Say that again America." Canada interjects the feud between the former Axis and Ally power.

"Uh.. lay off?"

"No. The last line."

"You're acting like this is going to be a witch hunt?"

"Exactly."

"You've lost me Matthew."

"We haven't really explored our options. We've considered kidnapping, but dismissed it because no robber came forth for ransom. Maybe they weren't after money."

"I'm afraid you've still lost me."

Canada sighs exasperatedly, "Remember the Salem Witch Trials?"

"When we burned people at the stake?"

"Ay, don't mention burning at the stake please mon ami."

"Sorry Francis, but this has to be explained. England is a magic user. He would be a victim to a witch hunt and trial."

"But that was years ago. Centuries even. It's not legal to do that anymore."

"Well, it's an idea."

"A terrible one, da."

"It could happen! You can never trust the integrity of people!"

"It was probably something else aru."

"Veee! Why can't we just listen to Canada? He sounds like he knows what he is doing!"

"Because Italy, there is no proof."

Canada wants to scream. Why couldn't they listen to him? They are too blockheaded to listen to a logical explanation. He is for sure this is the reason behind England's disappearance and has full intentions of proving it.

"What about a cult or an exorcist?"

All the countries gawk at the Canadian, who did not provide an explanation.

"Like... a devil worshipper or something?" Shivers crawl up America's spine at the thought of the Last Exorcism.

"Sort of. It can be used in that context."

"I'm sorry mon ami, but in England? I highly doubt it. That is something that would be monitored closely by his government."

"Need I remind you that Parliament leaped from a bridge? There is no government. The prisoners of nearby prison wards command control of the so called government. More than likely at the moment, cults are not and will never again be monitored."

"I don't know. Witch trials? Cults? That seems a little out there for you Canada. I think you are just guessing incorrectly."

"The signs point in that direction!"

"I have yet to see the so called signs mon ami."

_This is just like being ignored completely,_ Canada inwardly huffs. _There's no point in talking because no one will listen._

"Look, I say we get in and worry about the witch cultist later alright. Our main priority is saving England. Finding out what happened is second," America states, crossing his leather clad arms, "I just want that to be known."

"Fair enough." Germany nods.

"Get in, guessing later?" Russia clarifies.

"Yes."

"Aright."

"I'll give everyone a few days to prepare. Pack for a several week stay and don't forget weapons," America's eyes greet each of theirs, "No one is stepping foot off the boat unless they are loaded to the teeth. We don't have a clue what is waiting for us on the other side of the English Channel, but we have to be prepared for anything. I don't want anyone getting hurt," America feels as though as he is spilling his very heart and soul out, "So please don't become careless. None of us know what the condition of the people's sanity is like. Absolutely anything is possible until we get inside and narrow it down."

Each country nods their agreement and within minutes, disperse, leaving the conference room made for 192 nations to gather. When they came back, America planned on changing that to 193.

**How do you like it so far? Leave it to Canada to start thinking logically!**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	3. Pictures of You

**Children of the Circle**

**A Hetalia story.**

**Chapter Two: Pictures of You**

* * *

America has never felt so blind before. They are literally entering a foreign territory with no idea what awaits them. He just knows England's missing, that's it. There are no circumstances or possible hints that could lead him to a swift discovery. They are literally going off a blank slate comprised of America's hope in England's survival. He could be marching his fellow countries into a trap, and he would never know it. Ever since the planes and ships were barred from England, no news ever escaped the country. The Wi-Fi and satellites were disconnected, isolating them completely. A number of things could have gone down, with absolutely no one else having any clue about it. That's how blind and pointless their suicide mission is. Is it even worth sailing a ship to the great unknown, as though as they are traveling to the new world all over again? To the extent of their knowledge, the island could even be _gone._

The very thoughts of doubt snake into America's mind, shaking his resolve like leaves from a tree. When he goes to bed that night, it feels as though as he is lying on a pile of dull needles. He is stiff throughout the night, aching his muscles to be equally exhaust as his mind. Likewise, he doesn't sleep a wink. His eyes remain open, transfixed on a nearby picture framed at his bedside. It is the only remaining material of his childhood. The rest was burned in a house fire towards the end of the Revolutionary war. He was lucky enough to be carrying it when he was on the campaign.

The photo is of him, youthfulness rounding his cheeks and dusting them red. His eyes are a bright blue, ten times clearer than it is now; now they are just fogged by depression. He is perched on England's lap, ready to leap out of the nest like a bird when the story is finished.

America smiles weakly, his eyes distorted by fresh tears and lack of glasses. He misses England so much. Ever since the Revolution, he's grown distant and cold, ignoring the world in his bitterness. That's how all of this started. England isolated himself and refused all help from others. The others countries grew tired of the constant rejection and they stopped asking to help. That's how he disappeared so easily, seemingly unnoticed by the rest of the world.

_It's all my fault. _America swallows thickly. _If I hadn't of left, he would still be smiling._

Reaching out, America grasps the picture, pulling it close to him as though as he could give the people documented in it a hug.

"I'll get you back England. I swear. Your hero is coming soon." He whispers into the darkness of his room, squeezing the picture to his chest.

He is still influenced by his emotional turn at the meeting. He is beyond exhausted by the sudden ups and downs and the sharp twists and turns. It aches his heart like his body. He isn't mentally prepared for such a rollercoaster. Would he be a burden to the mission? Would he be the reason they don't succeed? He begins to get flustered at the very thought, losing control of the strength he has very little authority over to begin with. Crushing the picture on accident, the frame splinters and cracks, splitting away to crumble in his hands. The slivers slice in his palms but he is too worried about the picture's condition to give it a second thought. Brushing off the frame's pieces, he quickly picks up the picture. Something however catches his attention. He can see thick black strokes filtering through the paper, making him turn it over in curiosity.

His eyes widen, similar to what occurred at the UN meeting.

In England's sophisticated shorthand, a series of symbols are crafted into a circle. It looks like one of those things printed on the floor of his basement, designed to summon some sort of creature. Shivering slightly, America traces the lines.

That wasn't there before, he is sure of it. He could recall the countless times the back was visible to him and completely unmarked.

Is this a sign?

_It has to be._ The answer hardens in his mind. _It's too ironic that I discovered this right after the meeting._

America leaves his bed at 3:16 in the morning, not caring that he would be waking up others in the process. He pulls his IPhone from its charger, hitting speed dial number 3. He listens intently to the ringing on the other end. A groggy 'what', followed by a groan and a yawn is what he hears when the phone finally clicks.

"Matthew. I found something." He stares at the picture's back like he could transmit the picture to his brother.

"Alfred, it's like three. Can't it wait till morning?"

America can feel his blood staining his phone case the tighter he gripped it. The open wounds hardly registered in his mind, but his phone's safety does. He counts to ten inwardly, relaxing his body to prevent him from murdering the cellphone.

"There's a magic circle on the back of the picture."

"So…? You know England writes on random things."

"It wasn't there when I got it. It's too coincidental that I found it right after our meeting." America is being pumped full of adrenaline, his heart beating hard in his chest as a result of his discovery.

"I don't know America. Sounds like a stretch to me. Are you sure it wasn't there before?"

"Positive."

"Mon ami please be quiet. I'm getting my beauty sleep."

"Matthew..."

"What…?"

"France is sleeping with you?!"

"I couldn't sleep!" His brother quickly insists, but by the way he sounds America knows he is blushing.

"You know what France is capable of."

"Look America, it doesn't matter. You said you found something. You should focus on that."

"Should of said it was a French movie mon ami."

"Hush up Francis."

"I know Canada. But I have no clue what it could possibly mean." America messes with the picture, looking it over for any hints.

"Check the books he left behind at your place…" France mummers sleepily, his face audibly buried in a pillow.

America jumps at the idea of this and runs into his kitchen, his brother still on the phone.

One day, seemingly a century ago, England and his Prime Minister ventured to America in order to bargain with their government. It was also smack dab in the middle of December, the freezing cold and the Christmas spirit preventing them from acquiring a hotel room. America had kindly offered them to stay at his house. Luckily enough, the British man had been reading a book he so carelessly left alone. America just had forgotten to return it. Or maybe, he didn't want to. Either way it's a good thing. Squeezing the cellphone between his shoulder and cheek, America lifts up the book from the table and flips through it with the hand clasping the picture. A feeling creeps into his stomach; one that almost makes him put the book down. He is invading England's privacy, he knows that. It feels wrong, even though deep down he has to for his sake. Taking a deep breath, America begins browsing the pages, nearly holding his breath when he sees a phrase circled by a fountain pen's ink.

"Hey Matthew."

"Hm?" Canada mumbles, so close to once again sleeping but unable to until his brother gets some sort of closure and goes back to sleep.

"Have you ever heard of Children of the Circle?"

"The Children of wah? No I haven't. Why?"

"England circled it in his book." America gingerly traces the marking, like he could feel the hand that marred the page.

"England doesn't circle things in books Alfred."

"I know."

What is going on? None of this makes sense. It's almost like the divines are intervening, wanting desperately for America to find the Brit. Why is he just now noticing these things? Was he just blind before? America squints against the blurriness, trying to read the paragraph in question without his glasses. He frowns when he realizes this is impossible. The passage is in Latin.

"Matthew do you know how to read Latin?"

"I'm French-Canadian, so no."

"Do you know someone who can?"

"You could've if you just paid attention. You would have learned how to play the violin too if you didn't run off every time he would try to teach you something."

"Mattie, focus. Do you know someone who can speak Latin or not?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Why maybe?"

"I don't know anyone specifically who could read Latin. I'm pretty sure England was the only one who knew how to. But we just need a translator."

"That means we need someone who can speak it."

He can hear Canada chuckling at his brother, knowing something that America does not.

"Alfred it's called magic. We could pay Norway or Romania a visit. They could use magic to translate."

America stands, awestruck by his brother's intelligence.

"How much do I say I love you?"

"Not often."

"Well I love you bro! Thank you so much! I want to meet you tomorrow."

"The usual place?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'll be there."

America hangs up, clutching the picture and book tightly. They are the keys to finding England, he knows. And he refuses to lose them, no matter what.

* * *

America slept with the objects of his highest hopes pressed to his chest as though as he could protect them from the world. Even through his now bandages hands he could feel them as England felt them. England is such a mysterious and complicated person. Just having _clues _meansa lot to America, whose hope was previously detoured due to the lack of facts. This just makes his hope blossom, feeling not so lost any longer. Now they have a direction to go, and a name to look for.

_The Children of the Circle_

Sounds like a cult. Had Canada's random guess been right? America googles it before he leaves that morning. The only search results are Fanfiction stories about Vocaloid. Nothing relevant to England. He reads a few of the fangirl's inner thoughts posted on the internet and finds a majority of them disturbing. Talks of children's heads being removed, children songs that leaves chilling echoes in your mind, and an abandoned orphanage deep in the forest greens. All of them are similar in this way, strangely enough. But America doesn't dare delve deeper.

_I'll ask Japan later._ America mentally notes, shutting his laptop off without deleting the search history. Without a second thought, America grabs his jacket, swipes his fingers through his bed hair and leaves his house.

The hero could recall riding a subway in London once. It was so beautiful. Rain water trickled into the subways, seemingly turning crystal against the fluorescent lights. In some sections, it even absorbed some of the light, reflecting it to give it a glamorous glow. Maybe he only thought that way because it was his first adventure in London's underground. He is too accustomed to the New York subway he's on now, making it nothing but boring and aggravating. He doesn't really know. He just knows when he thinks of England, not only does he think of bad scones and tea and rain, he thinks of New Year's celebrations, the lights, and the subway. The only reason his mind is thinking of those things now is because he can't stop thinking about England. Every breath, every word, everyday his mind lingers on the Englishman like a love sick high schooler. He rocks back and forth on the bumpy subway, recalling the times the Brit rocked him as a child.

Upon his arrival, he is the only one to get off, in a hurry to arrive at his destination. By this point, he is the only one _on _the subway. He had paid close attention, noting how many people got in and off at each stop that passed. America waits for his brother approach, jittery tapping his foot as he makes sure the book and the picture are still nestled in his jacket. He watches the time, counting down every minute Canada is set to arrive.

They have a lot to talk about

* * *

**Indeed they do.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


End file.
